Salmagundi
by Persephone's flower
Summary: n. a collection containing a variety of sorts of things, a mixture of various ingredients; a collection of stories for the Forum-wide competition on HPFC.
1. Blown out Flame

**Prompt: **Set 3 (never, there's a beginning of things, let me forget, snuffed out candle, rose, while this was happening, you know?)

**House: **Gryffindor

**Pairing: **Rose/Scorpius.

_Thank you to my amazing beta, rileyluvr13, for beta-ing this particular one-shot and being more 'nit-picky' than usual because I asked you to. For picking out every single error there was and for helping my story flow better by helping me with certain awkward sentences and fragments. For helping me get this story to its full potential. Cheers~!_

* * *

**Blown-out Flame**

* * *

She's waiting for him at the clock tower, like she does every night. The pendulum swings back and forth, and she watches the gears grind and spin together, partially obscuring her view of the Black Lake. He's only a few feet away from her when she opens her mouth to speak, with her back still to him and her face covered in a mane of unruly red curls.

"You said you'd never." She doesn't complete the sentence, because there's so many things she wants to say, but they just can't all fit in the phrase.

_You'd never..._

_Do this to me._

_Break up with me._

_Hurt me._

_Stop loving me._

_Let me go._

It's amazing how much meaning four words can have, how much hidden depth they can hold. If she said it to anyone else, it'd sound cold, emotionless, as if she didn't have a care in the world. But he knows her better than that, and beneath the surface, he feels her wounds, heartbroken feelings, and the hurt, trying to burst free from their securely held seams.

An empty question hangs in the air, lingering in the uncomfortable silence.

_Why?_

And with all the thoughts swirling around in his mind, all the things he wants to tell her, to say to her, to whisper in her ear, the only words that escape from his tightly closed, unwilling lips are: "I'm sorry."

She obviously expected more from him, because when she turns around, her face pale with red, curly wisps of hair blowing away from her face, and her frosty, blue eyes meet his for just a moment, it's like she can see right through him. See every little secret he wants to hide.

"Sorry never fixes anything," she tells him. "So this is it, then?"

His silence is all she needs for an answer.

Without another word, she slides past him, their bodies brushing for just a moment. Her small frame tenses up as she walks down the spiral staircase. There's nothing he can do but watch her go. And at that moment, he hates himself more than anything else in the world, possibly more than she even hates him. He has so much self-loathing for hurting her beyond reason.

People always said that when one door closes, another opens. That there will always be a new beginning for every end, every misfortune that befell people. The truth is that he simply can't see a beginning, a new door. And that is a fact, something that just can't change. There are no fresh starts for this. There are no clean states. Matter-of-factly, he comes to realize that this is the end.

* * *

_They're sitting next to each other, hip-to-hip, shoulder-to-shoulder. His arms are around her, and his lips are pressed to her neck. She's smiling and laughing, and so is he. It's a memory from the earliest days of their relationships, back in their fourth year, just days after the Yule Ball, that's bright and happy, a flickering tongue of fire that refuses to burn out even on the darkest of days._

_"But, Scorpius." She grins, as if she's holding back a private joke. "What will people think?"_

_He honestly doesn't care what other people think about their relationship. They can go to Hell, for all he cares, as long as Rose is all his, and he tells her so._

_"You like me that much?" She sounds surprised, and he looks at her indignantly. His gray eyes say everything he wants to tell her, regardless of how his brows are furrowed together. That yes, he does like her that much._

_"Rose," he says, looking out into the cloudy sky, beyond the lakes, the mountains, the trees. " You know I love you. And I'll never let anyone get in the way of that." It's the most honest thing he's ever said to her during their whole relationship, and he doesn't regret it. Because he truly does love her, and he wants her to know._

_This can't help but remind her of that muggle book her grandparents read her when she was a little kid. A book with two rabbits who compare how much they love each other. And so, it makes her smile. _

_"Huh, I guess you know I love you too, then," she says. And it doesn't feel awkward at all. It feels perfect, like they're right where they belong, right where they fit in this world. And nothing, nothing, can ever take this moment away._

* * *

"Albus," he says, flopping onto his bed, staring at the ceiling, "I'm screwed."

"You broke up with her? Rose, I mean?" His best mate flips one page of his well-worn _Quidditch Through the Ages_, and then sets it down. He stares at Scorpius with a sort of resigned, pointed interest, studying his friend's face full of shock.

"How did you know?"

"We all saw it coming. While this relationship of yours was happening, neither side of our families were very happy. I mean, one way or another, one side would give in. It just so happened your father broke first. Uncle Ron wasn't so far from it himself, in fact. I would've given him two days or so."

Albus shrugs, giving him a sympathetic look.

"Then why was she so angry at me?"

"I don't think she was angry at you," Albus comments wisely, while Scorpius briefly considers whether his best friend has watched too much of that muggle telly show Oprah lately. His emerald green eyes flash momentarily behind his round glasses. "I think she was angry... at herself."

* * *

"Rosie," Lily singsongs, looking at her cousin from out of the corner of her eye while simultaneously putting on her make-up, "you've got to stop beating yourself up about Scorpius."

"I am not," she says firmly, "beating myself up."

"Puh-lease, Rose, I've known you ever since I was born. You think I can't tell? You think it's all your fault, don't you? That because of you, everything went awry?" Lily rolls her eyes, then yelps in surprise as she drops her eyeshadow with a clatter onto the floor.

"It is my fault. If I stopped it from the beginning, then this would have never happened in the first place, and none of us would have ever gotten hurt. I let it go on. I let it continue. And look where we are now." She can't help but feel sorry for herself.

Lily looks like she isn't going to start doing anything of the sort, but finally, she takes her attention away from the vanity and turns to face her cousin, giving Rose her full attention.

"Are you honestly saying," she asks her disbelievingly, "that you wish you never knew him?"

"Of course not," Rose replies quickly, "I love Scorpius more than anything. And that will never change."

And when Lily finally seems content and turns back to the vanity to apply her mascara, Rose stares at the ground, and whispers quietly, so no one but herself can hear her own insecurities, "But I don't know if he loves me enough to try again."

* * *

_It's the summer break, and they've just finished their sixth year in Hogwarts. He can't help but feel proud to know that he'll be moving on to the real world in just a year. But in a way, he also feels sad, because the next time he returns to the castle will probably and most likely be his last._

_"Scorpius." His mother's voice is quiet, but it stands out amidst the silence of their huge manor, which is occupied by only three people. "Your father wants to see you."_

_So he gets out of his chair, leaving behind the half-inked letter addressed to Rose. His owl, Hades, flutters its wings in annoyance, telling him to get on with it already. As soon as he turns to head out the door, his mother embraces him in one long, warm hug. She hasn't done so since he was about eleven and heading off to Hogwarts for the first time, respecting his independence. And that's the first sign that signals something is wrong. He feels at unease, and a horrible sensation springs in his stomach._

_His father is in his study, pacing around, barely seeming to notice when Scorpius enters the room. He quietly shuts the door behind him._

_"Sit down," he says, and Scorpius does so. Only when both father and son are sitting down at the large table, almost two meters apart from each other at each end, does his father begin to speak._

_Draco clears his throat. "You need to stop seeing the Weasley girl."_

_"What?"_

_"Rose. You can't be together anymore."_

_"Dad, you're being completely prejudiced. I thought you were past the old days, past grudges with Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, I thought you were over all that." Scorpius is angry with his father for holding something like this against him._

_"I can't believe..." Scorpius is frustrated, wanting to help his father see reason, but not knowing quite how to do so._

_"It's not like that. You don't understand," his father interrupts him sharply. "They never let me forget." He repeats this a second time at a whisper, choking on his own words, fists clenched together. Scorpius is briefly surprised; it's been quite a while since his father was so bitter._

_"How do you think it feels to be in their debt? That they saved my life multiple times, when I deserved it the least? They never let me forget. Never. It's already bad enough that I made the wrong decisions when I was your age, and yet still, right now, I'm faced with all the consequences. How do you think that feels?"_

_He pushes himself out of his chair, his face livid. "How do you think it feels?"_

_The last sentence echoes around the room, and Draco collapses back down, clutching his hair with his hands, rubbing his temples in rough circles. Scorpius remains silent, and he silently slips away from the study, watching his mother head in to comfort his dad. He heads back to his own room and sits down._

_He stares down at his letter, the words swimming before his eyes, and then he makes his decision. _

_Ignoring Hades's confused squawks of protest, slowly he folds the letter, creases it, then rips it apart, tearing it from piece to piece. He shreds it until there's only a pile of confetti, the sole remains of his heartfelt words, settled on his desk. And when the wind blows in, scattering the pieces across the floor, he does nothing to stop it._

* * *

Once he leaves the common room, stepping away from the dungeons, he goes to find her. He knows where she is, where she'll always be, and as expected, he finds her. A solitary figure in the moonlight, glowing with its reflection, her scarlet hair a beacon among the never-ending green of the rose garden. It's one place he can always find her, depend on her presence. Ironic, really, considering her name. Perhaps that's why she comes here so often. Because she can feel a connection.

And while he knows she's here, she knows he has arrived as well.

"Not what it's cracked up to be, huh?" He breaks the silence hanging in the air.

Her voice cracks, and he knows she's struggling not to cry as she asks, "What do you mean?"

For someone as smart as she is, she can be so insanely ignorant when it comes to common sense. He's talking about their relationship, what else? And finally, she gets it. What they thought would be a fairytale romance. A happily ever after. How they believed everything would work out in the end. Yes, they were young, and they were foolish. They dared to dream. And look where it got them.

So he walks over to her, and even though she refuses to turn around to face him, he puts his arms around her in a long, embracing hug. That action in itself is enough to tell her everything that he wants to say. He can feel the tears sliding down her cheeks, dropping onto his hands, which are entwined with hers as he wipes them away.

Because neither of them can afford tears right now. They extinguish their bright, flickering flame, leaving nothing but a snuffed out candle behind. Plumes of smoke rise into the air, a nasty, cruel sign. They're remnants of what their love used to be, the darkness that engulfs them once more when the temporary light is gone.

Even though he knows that nothing he can say or do, nothing she can do or say, will make it better, he continues to hold on.

To her, to hope, to their ever-diminishing love, wishing that one day everything will be better, and that one day, their smothered, blown out candle will flicker with a flame again. A new flare, a spark among the damaged remains of everything that has happened in the past years, through all the hurt, the sorrow, and the regret.

But for now, all he can do is live in the moment, and keep on praying for better things to come. That one day, there will be a new beginning.


	2. Expectations

**House:** Gryffindor

**Prompt:** James Sirius Potter/OC (not really another option, is there?)

**A/N:** Thanks much to rileyluvr13 for beta-ing. ^^

* * *

**Expectations:** Life is so constructed that an event does not, cannot, will not, match the expectation.

-Charlotte Bronte

* * *

James Sirius Potter loves his dad very much. But then again, his dad is _freaking_ Harry Potter, so who doesn't? Although he loves his dad with all of his heart, deep down inside, he admits only to himself that sometimes he wishes he wasn't the son of the great Boy Who Lived.

Because, well, living up to the expectation of being just as great as your father isn't easy.

And even though his younger sister loves to bask in the glory, and even though his younger brother likes nothing better than to yap away to others about his father's famous wizarding-worldwide known adventures, it seems like he's the only one who knows better.

He knows people expect great things when you're the son of the man who stopped one of the greatest, evil wizards of all time, the man who saved the wizarding world from being demolished. They want you to be exactly like him; to think, to talk, to act all the same way.

But, who cares if he's actually someone different? No one, but himself.

* * *

People are swarming him once he gets on the train. They all want to see the first-born son of Harry Potter board the train to Hogwarts; they all want to be his friend.

He swears he has to move down at least five sections of the Hogwarts Express before he finds a compartment all the way in the back. But just as he sits down, wiping his sweaty forehead in relief and thinking he has gotten away, other students start flowing in, jabbering to him and pointing excitedly.

James actually has to pull out his father's invisibility cloak and slide it over his body before racing away to find an emptier compartment. As soon as he collapses and is about to remove the cloak, a girl, another first year like him, walks in and slides the door shut. She sits down and pulls out a book to read.

Oh, crap. That means he has to stay under the cloak for the whole trip.

"I can see you, you know," she says in a bored tone of voice. Which is crazy, because she shouldn't be able to.

"What? How..." He's baffled. Never before has this cloak failed to work.

"I didn't know you'd be as naïve to think those replicas from Zonko's actually work. They're just for show." She snorts, causing him to look down at himself, seeing his body through the sheer, translucent cloak. And then, suddenly, the answer comes to him. He knows exactly what happened.

"Fuck!" he says out loud, never mind that he's only eleven and yet already influenced by his cousin Teddy Lupin's obscene language, while the girl looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Fred!" That _arse_ must have replaced his cloak, hoping James would get caught by Filch or someone during the school year!

"I have to go. Thanks for telling me," he says quickly, poking his head outside and searching the empty corridor for signs of first years chasing after him. And when he doesn't see any, he grabs his stuff and heads out.

She glances up from her book once more to say, "No problem. And for future reference, the name's Lynn Thomas."

"I'd tell you mine, but you probably already know it."

"Don't flatter yourself," she says, but a smile is tugging at the corners of her lips.

* * *

"Potter, James."

His name arouses interest and a quiet murmur ripples throughout the house tables at Hogwarts as he steps up towards the stool. Because, after all, who hasn't heard the name Potter before? And who doesn't know that he's Harry Potter's first-born child? He takes a seat, and the sorting hat is plopped on his head.

And once he's sorted into Gryffindor, he decides he hates Hogwarts, that he wants nothing more than to go home and run back into the protective arms of his family.

Because the stares are like blazing rays of sun that seep through his robes and burn his skin. So uncomfortable that they make him shift from side to side in his seat on the bench at his new house table.

Lynn ends up getting sorted into Ravenclaw. Figures. He remembers their brief interaction on the train, and he thinks that maybe they at least might be able to be friends. It's the only chance he has for one, as it stands now. But she doesn't even look at him. His stomach sinks, although he's not exactly sure why.

From then on, he puts on a façade of confidence, of arrogance, of certainty. Both back home and at Hogwarts. Because when everyone turns his or her eyes to glance at you, looking like you know everything is way better than knowing absolutely nothing at all. He's a living example.

* * *

The door to the boys' bathroom shuts with a bang. He takes the towel wrapped around his neck and swipes at a drop of water falling down his forehead, quite pleased with how everything turned out.

"You did that on purpose." He jumps back, surprised at the sound of her voice. She's sitting on a bench next to the door of the changing room, reading another book. _Merlin_, how many books can one person read? He's beginning to think she's a clone of Aunt Hermione when she speaks up again.

"You screwed up the tryouts on purpose." The fourth year looks up from her novel and narrows her eyes at him, as if trying to draw him into a trance. He shakes his head in denial at her accusation.

"Why do you have to assume that because my dad's good at Quidditch, so am I?" It's partially a lie, since he's quite skilled at the particular sport. But he's been itching to say that for quite a while, and it is truly something he wants to know.

"You do know you're still going to make the team, don't you?" Lynn tells him, ignoring his previous question. He then realizes that she's completely right. After all, he is Harry Potter's son. If he doesn't get on the team, the whole school would be in shock and outraged at how the Chosen One's child was not given the chance to play like his father did. But James just shrugs in response, and she turns back to her book.

When he finally walks away, he shivers involuntarily. It's like he can still feel those eyes of hers on his back, as if they can see right through him. As if he's just as transparent as the fake cloak he had on when he met Lynn for the first time.

And he knows then that she doesn't believe his little act. At all.

* * *

The next time he sees her, it's already Christmas. The days just fly by with all the work their professors have been piling on them, the weekly Quidditch practices (something about that meeting with Lynn convinced him to finally start playing like he usually does, maybe just to prove her right), and a whole bunch of other duties that just blur together, losing their significance and instead earning the label of just another thing to do before the holidays.

He's running down the hallway, pursuing a snitch that Fred has "accidentally"set free (that moron!) but having no success. He's a chaser, after all, not a seeker like everyone expects him to be. James has finally chased it down a small, almost deserted corridor when he sees Lynn sitting down on the floor in the middle of it, submerged in a book almost as thick as a desk.

The snitch flies away unnoticed, no longer in pursuit as James stops in his tracks and stares. Why is she sitting on the ground? As if in spite of him, the snitch zooms right in front of his face. His hand shoots out almost immediately, trying to grab it, but it soars away up near the top of the ceiling. It hovers near a plant with oval, evergreen leaves and smooth, waxy, white berries. Enchanted mistletoe. And sitting directly under it is Lynn, trapped.

"I suppose you want me to snog you senseless?" Her head shoots up as the loud, obnoxious tone of his voice rings and echoes through the empty hallway.

"Not at all," she says, furious at her own lack of perceptiveness that got her into this situation in the first place. "Don't you dare touch me, James."

"Funny." He smirks, tilting his head to the side. "Most girls would be dying for a chance like this."

"I am not," she says, seething, but whether it's at her own helplessness or his facade he doesn't know, "one of those girls, and I most definitely don't need your help getting out of this."

"Alright then," he says, whistling and walking away, pretending not to notice the slight twitch in her cheeks as if she's trying not to smile. When he comes back later that night with the aid of the invisibility cloak – the real one this time, which he had rightfully retrieved from Fred – he notices she has fallen asleep on the ground. She was always too proud for her own good, that girl.

And he decides to do something gutsy. He inches over to her, quietly of course, and kisses her on the forehead, just once, very lightly. He watches with satisfaction as the invisible bonds retract, and the enchanted mistletoe above her head explodes into a shower of gold dust. Then he steps quietly back to the Gryffindor common room, leaving Lynn alone and confused in the morning and wondering why in the world the mistletoe had released her and disappeared.

* * *

He looks back over his shoulder to see how close they're getting, and, _sweet Merlin_, they're lapping at his heels! He tries to take a deep breath to get his heart pumping evenly, but it continues to race irregularly at the speed of light. It's frightening how obsessed they get, how strangely scary they are and have been ever since he turned sixteen and they decided he was ripe for the picking. Yeah, they might have missed out on their chance to get Harry Potter – his mother's awfully monster-like when she uses that Bat-Bogey hex on anyone who gets too close to her husband – but hey, look! His son! That's just as good, if not better, isn't it?

He turns around the corner, opening the door to the library and completely ignoring the fact that Madam Pince is standing right there. She glares at him as he flies by, followed by the oh-so many girls who have much more on their minds than just being his friend.

A light bulb flashes on in his head when he sees Lynn sitting at a table, hiding behind her book on who-knows-what. He doesn't care what she's reading, but only that she's there.

"Lynn!" he hisses, as the girls stop a few meters away, watching carefully at what they believe could be a lovers' quarrel. "Lynn!" he whispers loudly again, and this time she lowers her book, shutting it with a loud thump and glaring at him.

"What?" she mouths back. She smirks in a very arrogant way and, clearly remembering something he said to her not too long ago, says, "Those many girls dying for you to snog them senseless?"

He swallows his pride. "I need your help."

"Oh ho, the infamous James Sirius Potter needs me, Lynn Thomas, lowly peasant, to help him out?" This time the roles are reversed, and instead of Lynn being trapped, he's in the predicament himself, and she's the one standing over him with all the power.

"You owe me."

"I... _what_? I don't owe you _anything_! What in _Merlin's beard_ are you talking about?"

He plays his final card. "Who do you think freed you from the mistletoe?"

"You what? After I specifically told you not to?"

"And? You were planning to stay there forever? I don't think so."

She struggles to look for something to say, then blows out a surrendering sigh. "Fine. What do you want me to do?"

"Snog me," he says simply while her mouth drops open, gaping wide before she has the sense to close it. She ogles at him like he had just asked her to jump off the Ravenclaw tower and tumble to her death.

"You've got to be kidding..." Lynn starts, still in obvious disbelief, but the girls, finally convinced nothing is going on and that the two are nothing but acquaintances, are starting to stalk closer to him just like he was chasing the snitch his idiot cousin set off this past Christmas. And because there's no more time, he draws her to him and kisses her.

Pince stomps over angrily, carrying a book as big as an encyclopedia, and holds it above their heads.

"Not in my library, you miscreants!' she shouts and shoos them out of the library. Oh well, at least his plan has worked, and it's not exactly like he goes to the library much anyway. Too bad he can't say the same for Lynn.

But when he sneaks a glance at her, she doesn't seem too displeased or upset. Because at the moment when they kissed, well... they both happened to notice that there just might be the slightest possibility that there's something _there_.

* * *

Well, he's finally done it this time. He's gone loony. He has finally lost it. Not only had he plotted together with the Scamanders for their cauldron to explode green, sticky jelly all over the classroom, but also when the teacher was lecturing him about his father and how he should have known better, James hexed the Slug. And to make it even worse, he just walked out of Potions. Skipping it entirely. Might as well expel him from Hogwarts right now. Then he won't have to see all their incredulous faces staring back at him ever again.

"James," a voice says, hesitant and tentative, as if it's afraid its words might provoke him to do something irrational.

He chooses to ignore the voice. He winds his arm back and then releases the smooth, cold, gray stone. It flies forward into the air, skipping across the water and making ripples, and then sinks into the Black Lake. Deep, deep down, where it will go unnoticed for the rest of time.

"James," she starts again, as if she thinks saying his name over and over again will somehow cause him to react.

"I'm not in the mood, Lynn," he says, because who else could it be? And when she pauses, he continues to throw rocks. Each one plops into the water, and it fills out the silence hanging in the air. He waits for the sound of her retreating footsteps, but it doesn't come. Instead, she walks forward and takes a seat beside him.

"They're expecting you to go back, you know. To apologize for the ruckus you created. Apparently it was something your father used to do all the time after he lost his temper. And well, they all assume you're exactly like your father."

"I'm not." He throws a rock harder this time. It splashes once, causing water to fly in all directions, making her to flinch. A tentacle shoots up not too far away from them and grabs the stone, then disappears back underneath the tranquil, undisturbed surface from where it came. He's sick and tired of all the expectations that are already set up for him. For once, he wishes he doesn't have to be what people expect him to be. The boundaries that refuse to let him be who he really is.

"I'm not my father." The anger inside himself is rising, growing, like a flame that cannot be smothered, his voice as harsh as a whiplash.

"James," Lynn says again. This time, it's firm. Rather unlike the small, unsure voice she used at first. And this time, he stops in his tracks. Because there's something in her voice that sounds like it will make her worth listening to, that tells him he won't want to walk away from it.

"You're not your father. I know that. You're James Sirius Potter, someone who's entirely his own." She says this slowly, but with certainty. The sentence echoes in the distance, repeating itself over and over and over again, as if it's trying to drill itself into his head, to convince him otherwise.

The next part she says so quietly, so timidly unlike her defiant self, it almost sounds like it's coming from the wind. It's such a whisper, it's like it was never said in the first place. But it flows to his ears, and to his ears only. What she meant for him to hear.

"And that's what I love you for."

She steps in front of him, blocking his way to the castle. She wraps her arms around his neck, and she crushes her lips to his. He kisses her back, tilting his head to get closer to her and lifting his hands up to cup her chin.

That's when he knows that there's one person out there who doesn't expect him to be Harry Potter's perfect, ideal son. That there's someone out there who expects him to be himself, to be James Sirius, the person he really is inside. That someone has expectations for him. Expectations to begin fresh, to begin anew, to refuse boundaries that are already set in his path.

And while it may be only one person, at least it's a start.


	3. Colours of the rainbow

**House:** Gryffindor

**Prompt:** b) An unused house character with a song centred around the pairing

**A/N: **Thanks to my beta, rileyluvr13 for doing an amazing job on editing and helping me polish up this entry :)

* * *

_But I see your true colours shining through_

_I see your true colours and that's why I love you_

_so don't be afraid to let them show_

_your true colours are beautiful like a rainbow _

-True Colours, Glee cast

* * *

People never understood what she saw in him.

"Astoria, you could do so much better," Pansy Parkinson would simper when they bumped into each other once in the ladies' washroom in the _Three Broomsticks_. She would shake her head, apply more foundation onto her pug-nosed face – which was already caked in make-up – and say, "He may be gorgeous, but he's a filthy coward."

"He's not a coward," Astoria would respond quietly. "He had no choice."

Pansy would only look at her as if Astoria had four eyes, then walk out the door, never fully understanding what she meant.

Astoria would get this from everyone she saw, everywhere she went. From Harry Potter. The Weasleys. Former students from all four houses.

She'd even been silly enough to think that Hermione Granger, the smart one, would understand.

"I'm sorry, Astoria," Hermione would say, biting her lip guiltily, "but when I think of Malfoy, all I see is the young boy who taunted me constantly about my Muggle parents and my appearance. I just can't see anything else."

And she would try to explain. Astoria would explain to the best of her ability, but no one else would ever understand. They'd leave, unchanged in their opinions and convinced that Draco was as bad as they thought all along, even though Astoria knew he truly wasn't.

They didn't make the effort. They didn't bother to look underneath his surface, past old prejudices and his mistakes and try to see beyond.

It was a pity, because Astoria _had_ seen below the surface. She _had _been beyond. And his true colours were more beautiful than anyone could ever imagine.

* * *

**vii. Violet – royalty, power, sophistication, nobility, luxury.**

* * *

He was violet.

The sort of bluish, purplish colour that was found in those lovely five petalled flowers, which smelled heavenly, that she had planted in the backyard of the Greengrass Manor.

He was purple – and she loved him for it. She loved everything violet about him.

The grace he so confidently exuded. Expressed through the simple way he walked, in his soundless, sinuous, lean movements, as subtle as a shadow.

His power. His influence over others, without ever having to force them or take action with his wand. The way he seemed to be able to mentally persuade them, as if he had a source of magnetic power that attracted people.

The sophisticated manner in which he treated everyone he met. Not the constant drawls and smirks, but the makings of a fine gentleman that he hid. It made her blush, made her cheeks flame, made her mother almost faint and glow simultaneously at her choice of a husband, made her father nod his head in approval.

He was her luxury.

* * *

**vi. Indigo – wisdom, communication, self-mastery, knowledge.**

* * *

He was indigo.

The colour of the deep, midnight blue sky that she would stare at for hours on end, sitting out on her balcony while the rest of her family was asleep. The stars would twinkle, embedded in the wispy, dark grey clouds floating on the surface.

It symbolized his wisdom, which she knew he had lots of.

While everybody shook their heads at his naivety for joining the Dark Lord when he was merely sixteen years old, at how he did not choose the more rational decision to put aside differences and ask Professor Dumbledore or the Order of the Phoenix for help, she knew better.

She knew the boy who had sat with her for hours on end until early in the morning, helping her study for Potions until she'd finally understood what was going to be on the exam that day; it was the one subject she happened to abhor – ironic, considering that she was a Slytherin – and fail.

She knew the psychologist who listened to her complain and gave her advice to deal with her older sister, Daphne, when she was dumped by Blaise Zabini, who thus helped Daphne move onto someone more deserving and worthy of her love, like Theodore Nott.

She knew the scared child who realized that if he asked Dumbledore for help, then Voldemort would kill his parents in an instant, faster than he could ever imagine.

He was her dark, peaceful night.

* * *

**v. Blue – truth, peace, loyalty, tranquility.**

* * *

He was blue.

As blue as the water in the pond in front of the Malfoy Manor on the clearest of days. The beautiful, cerulean surface, tranquil and undisturbed, smooth as a flat piece of fabric.

And he was every blue of the universe – turpentine, cobalt, teal, sapphire, periwinkle. Every single shade that sparkled in the water when the sun was pouring light down from the clear, bright sky.

He had never lied to her and never would. Their relationship was based on trust, and they shared close, intimate thoughts and feelings with each other. They knew each other as well as they knew themselves – every single detail, down to their favourite flavour of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and their dream vacation spots.

He was quiet and pensive, but only because words weren't strong enough to express how he felt.

He was her inner peace, the lullaby of constant, gentle waves caressing the sandy shore. She felt safe, secure, and relaxed, something she had never managed to achieve when she was apart from his presence.

He was her calm.

* * *

**iv. Green – life, growth, renewal, balance, and above all, Slytherin pride.**

* * *

He was green.

As green as the grass in her name.

He was as green as the meadow in her backyard that stretched on for miles, the bright grass that was lush in the early rising sun, twinkling with sprinkled fresh, damp morning dew.

And, well, green was the colour and symbol of Slytherin pride, so who wouldn't love him for being green?

But that wasn't all.

He was her life and growth. She was the flower that bloomed, a pretty sight that everyone would admire. But people often forgot that for a flower to blossom, it has to be properly supported and sustained in order for it to grow properly. Draco was her stem and roots. The shoot that held her up and refused to let her go when she wanted nothing more than to wilt to the ground.

He kept her persevering, and he wouldn't let her give up.

He was her foundation.

* * *

**iii. Yellow – joy, happiness, laughter, spirit.**

* * *

He was yellow.

As bright and eye-catching as the yellow canary she had glimpsed in the window of _Magical Menagerie_ one time while traveling down Diagon Alley. It had hopped around in its cage, ruffling its fluorescent feathers and singing the most wonderful songs.

He was the ray of sunshine in her life that made her laugh with his sarcasm, his half-hearted jokes, his attempts to be funny when he really wasn't, and his unintentional humour. And she was simply happy with him. He made her feel like she was the only person in the world that mattered, made her feel like she was the sun, the centre of the universe, the one that everyone was supposed to revolve around.

The sheer amount of light he shone in her life made her try to be as best as she could, so she could do the same for him. He was as yellow as the cruel sun in the summer – blazing, unparalleled in heat and energy compared to anything else in the galaxy – and she, a mere small star.

He was her sun.

He was her canary.

He was her happiness.

* * *

**ii. Orange – curiosity, creativity, genuine warmth, affection.**

* * *

He was orange.

Draco Malfoy was as orange as flames that flickered but remained bright and alive. Like the fire in her fireplace back home, where she would sit with her hands hovering just an inch over the flares.

He was the fire that kept her warm on the coldest of the winter days. Somehow, without knowing it, Draco was her personal ember, keeping her warm on the inside. Heat would spread throughout her body whenever he got close to her.

He was the glow that bathed the darkness in her enormous estate, unfamiliar and frightening in the eclipse of night.

He was the fire that showed her solutions when she was stuck on a problem, illuminating new viewpoints and perspectives that were previously obscured by the shadows.

He was the fuel that constantly kept her going through times of hardship and suffering, something she had especially needed when her mother had died.

He was her flame.

* * *

**i. Red – love, passion, desire, the heart.**

* * *

He was red.

He was as red as the crimson blood that flowed from wounds that she faced every day as a healer at St. Mungo's. The bright crimson flowers that streamed from cuts and openings in the flesh, that stained the plaster and bandages she covered them with.

He was as red as the blood that pumped through her veins, leading back to the core of her heart.

She had always loved him. From first sight, there was that connection, that sudden feeling of passion, desire, but most of all, and most importantly, love. Not lust – not solely physical desire. It was a want that blossomed from the pits of her stomach when they looked at each other – clear, blue eyes meeting steady, even grey.

Red was the symbol of how much they loved each other, how much they cared.

Red was love, and he fueled the pumping of her blood.

He was her heart.

* * *

But most of all, Draco Malfoy was her rainbow.

The thin, long, extended archway that twisted and appeared, barely visible, after the darkest, heaviest, and most terrifying of storms, on the horizon. The thin sliver of hope that made everyone smile and lower their soaked umbrellas to look in awe at the blessing.

She would be the little girl perched in the branch of a tall tree, sitting under the rainfall and getting wet but never caring, waiting for the rainbow to come, holding her binoculars expectantly. Her smile would be bigger and her eyes wider than everyone else's when it finally did come. She would just look and look and look until it finally disappeared into the misty distance.

She would be that child with a clear prism in her hand, holding it up to the white light of the sun so that when it came out the other side, she would see cherished bands of stunning colours over and over again, just keeping it all to herself while everybody else only saw pure white light.

She would be that individual who could see and appreciate the different hues and shades in the world, while everybody else lived a life of black, white, and grey, nothing other than those three, dull colours, blind to the beauty surrounding them.

Astoria Greengrass would be that one person who thought differently of Draco Malfoy.

The one person who saw his true colors underneath – and loved him for it.


	4. Running away

**House:** Gryffindor

**Prompt:** Fanon pairing breaking canon

**Pairing:** Ron/Astoria, Draco/Astoria

**A/N:** I was less than pleased with this attempt at a Ron/Astoria entry, but I wanted to post something so badly - after all, it is the last challenge in the forum-wide competition. You have been warned. Thank you to all the judges for organizing this wonderful event and for the feedback that helps us improve, and thank you to my beta, Riley, for helping me through this and doing an awesome job beta-ing all my entries.

* * *

_Dear Draco,_

Do you remember the day we first met? Your parents were intent on finding someone who would not taint that infamous bloodline of yours. Mine were merely concerned with finding a way to preserve the family fortune. I sometimes wonder whether it was actually fate when our two paths crossed. When our parents met each other and arranged our marriage, sealing our futures.

I doubt that you would have recognized me or that you'd have known me before then. I was a quiet person, a wallflower of sorts. It was my older sister Daphne who would shine and thrive in the sunlight. I was content to live in her shadows. But I had heard of you. Draco Malfoy, the legendary Slytherin. Everyone had heard of you. And as your life started falling apart at the seams when Harry Potter won the war, I was the only one who cared when you thought you were all alone in the world, but you didn't even see me standing there.

_Did you love me?_

_Did you really ever love me?_

I'd often try to convince myself that yes, you did. That when you slipped this extravagant ring on my finger, you did it out of love. That when you kissed me to complete the marriage, you meant it. But it always felt uncertain. Unreal. I see couples everyday. And when I see the affection they give each other, I wonder, is our love anything like that? Now I don't know if I'll ever get that answer. Everyday, I would look into those icy gray eyes of yours, searching for something that deep inside, I knew was never there. You'd hide behind walls. Never opening up yourself, shielding yourself away from everything and everyone there was, and especially from me. And no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't break them down.

I loved you. I still do. But waiting for something that will never come, will never be returned, is pointless. And I'm tired of waiting. You didn't love me. You don't know how to love anything in your life, and you're too blind to change your ways. That's something it took me years to realize. You never loved me, and you never will, so-

Tell me. What does it feel like to run away, as you have done so often in your past? Does it hurt to know you're leaving everything behind you? When you run away just to save your skin, you leave behind your friends, your family, everyone you love, everything that matters to you. Is it worth it? Risking honor, love, and your life in the process? You may be asking why I'm bringing this up. I know how you hate to remember the past. But the thing is that I'm taking a leaf out of your book. I've decided to run away.

I'm leaving.

I'm trying to imagine you as I'm writing this. Do you feel hurt? Angry? Betrayed? I can't see your expression, nor will I be able to know how you feel. But the fact is simple; you don't have a choice. All these years I've waited. I've waited for you to change, to become a better person, to move on from your past. To change. I was willing to help you begin anew. But you wouldn't.

I'm going on the run with someone else. He's been to me everything that you weren't, everything that you were supposed to be. He makes me laugh, which is something I haven't been able to do since I married you and lived in that shockingly bare Manor of yours. He returns my unrequited love. I love him, and he loves me, not just one way or the other. He was there for me when you weren't, when you were too shut up in the Ministry to care. He's taught me that bloodline doesn't matter. It's about the person you are inside. He's taught me that money – no matter how much you have – can't buy happiness, and if you're happy, then you don't really need money. He's proven that every single thing we were taught as pure blood children was wrong, wrong, wrong. He's shown me the world in a different way, and I'm willing to see it in a new light.

Draco, I'm going away with Ron. Ron Weasley.

I've never really been good at farewells or saying goodbye. I never even imagined that I would ever leave you or Scorpius behind. But you were never the one for me. Marrying you and living your life is something I should have never done. That truth was blocked out by my compassion and understanding for you, and only when Ron helped me to open my eyes did I finally see it. I'm sorry, but I love him, and when you love somebody, you'd do anything for them.

This will probably be the last you hear of me.

Goodbye, Draco.

_Sincerely,_

Astoria Greengrass.

**[Interdepartmental memo from the Ministry of Magic]:**

_This letter has remained unopened by the recipient. Please return to the sender._


End file.
